Was It Worth It? (Ending D:Karma)
by OptimisticNihilist
Summary: Taking place in an alternate variant of Ending A, where Franklin shoots Michael dead immediately after the death of Trevor Phillips, this story details the events following the incident, and the actions taken against both Weston and Haines.
1. Aftermath

**ENDING D: Karma**

 _10:35p.m., Murrieta Oil Fields, Los Santos_

The yellowish tint of the Los Santos smog persisted stubbornly across the colorless, windy night sky as monotone, glossy silo tanks stood tall, bright red lights strobbing on and off from them at random intervals. The smoke coming from the Bodhi had begun to rapidly subside, leaving the charred remains of Michael's former partner, lying lifeless on the asphalt.

Beside what was left of him was the now limp body of the father of two, with blood slowly rolling out of a bullet hole lodged above his forehead, painting the ground red. His protégé, a young, ambitious African American man whom he had shared his knowledge of the criminal world with, remained still, thin line of smoke smoldering from the muzzle of the pistol, held loosely in his right hand, contemplating what he just did. He knew there and then, he fucked up bad, taking advice from the likes of Haines and Weston.

 _Shit. Was it worth it?_ That was the only question that popped in his head.

Soon, the man, without warning, placed his left hand into his jacket, pulling out his iFruit phone, browsed through the contacts and finally dialed in a number.

A pre-recorded voice message was activated.

"What up, what up? This is your boy LD, leave one!" A familiar voice played from the phone.

The man took a deep breath of the putrid, freezing air, before continuing.

"Hey Lamar, it's me homie." The man stopped for a moment.

"Look, I was calling to see how you was doin', dog. Uh, maybe we could hang out or something."

The man turned back to take another glimpse at the bodies of his former partners in crime.

"Man, I know I've been kinda caught up in this shit, man but shit been real crazy, homie. But it's dealt with now. Fuck man, you know how it is homie. You just start runnin' and shit, then all of a sudden, your legs give in and you can't just run no more. Anyway, just hit me up dog. We brothers for life homie, alright?"

The last part of the sentence made him sweat. Calmly, the man began to retrace his steps. All he could remember was first, a phone call from Steve Haines as well as Devin Weston. Somehow later that day, he took part in a wild goose chase against Trevor across half of South San Andreas and to the oil fields. Michael, looking into Trevor's rage-filled eyes that screamed of betrayal by his former friends, was the one who delivered the final shot, setting his body ablaze. And then after that, the next thing he knew was that Michael was on the ground, dead by his protégé's hand, karma striking back on him at full speed.

 _Loyalty sure is a bitch, ain't it?_ The man thought to himself.

The cycle of betrayal had finally caught up to him, and Franklin did not enjoy the feeling of it, one bit. And deep down, he knew that he himself was a selfish hypocrite who only did such things to roll out of shit's creek, unharmed. Stabbing his friends in the back to save his own sweet ass from getting killed.

The man quickly shifted his thumb away from the 'End Call' button and eminently rephrased his words.

"You know what? Fuck it dog. Actually, I'm gonna head over to your crib, we need to talk."

Walking over back to his heavily-damaged Buffalo S, the man never turned back to look at the bodies of his former partners. Twisting the key against the ignition, springing the muscle car to life before setting the GPS to Forum Drive in Strawberry. He knew that something had to be done with both Haines and Weston.

They needed to pay for what they did to him and his friends.


	2. Haines: Planning

_11:38p.m., Palomino Freeway, Los Santos County_

"... _Well I guess we lost him… S'all good, s'all good. How can you be mad when you live in Los Santos? The most amazing city on Earth. It's so beautiful… damn!"_

The sounds of the _Araabmuzik_ remix of _Kaskade's 4AM_ began to fill the _Buffalo S_ 's interior as Franklin pressed his foot on the gas pedal, propelling the car forward on the freeway, taking over many other automobiles on the road. The intensive trap beat of the song blended fantastically with the soft, female vocals, complimenting well with the night drive, thus making the journey seem faster than it really was. Feeling a buzz in his jacket, Franklin swiftly pulled his phone out. Revealing the call to be from Steve Haines, Franklin promptly dropped the call.

 _I'm going for your ass first, motherfucker._ Franklin schemed. _For Trevor._

Franklin had to admit, in many ways, that Trevor was saner than the rest of Los Santos by a longshot, not to mention his undying loyalty to everyone he worked with, no matter how crazy he was. He made sure that everyone had payday, and that if you had any enemies, he made sure that they experienced a pain worse than hell. In contrast to Michael, who snitched out to the FIB Witness Protection back in '04, followed by Franklin himself, who betrayed them both.

In fact, had both Michael and Trevor been still alive, they would have taken the fight up to Devin and his cronies, ending this whole mess. Instead, Franklin was overcome by his own will to survive, seeing them both as obstacles, Franklin did the unspeakable.

" _I thought I had the one Judas! Now I'm surrounded by them!"_ The pain in Trevor's voice was something that could never escape his mind, for as long as he lived.

It was almost midnight, the traffic was easily one of the easiest to bypass in all of his years driving in Southern San Andreas, with no more than five cars driving along at one time. Excellent, less time to waste.

 _4AM_ began to decrease in pitch and tempo, courtesy of _Flying Lotus,_ lightening up the stressful atmosphere. Franklin was now able to mentally plan out what he wanted to do.

First, he needed to ask Lamar for some help, probably jack some old ass car that won't be spotted by them five-oh and use it for later.

And then, he needed to call Lester to ask about the whereabouts of both Steve Haines and Devin Weston.

Attaching a silencer, Franklin reloaded his pistol, planning for use against Haines later.

 _12:01 a.m., Forum Drive, Strawberry, Los Santos_

"Ey yo, Lamar! It's me, dog! Open the door!" Shouted Franklin, knocking on his homie's door loudly, getting ugly looks from the neighbors.

"Ey, cut it out, nigga!" Shouted back Lamar before opening the door. "Niggas be sleepin' right now, nigg-ah!" Dragging the last word slightly.

"I feel you man, but this is important."

Stepping into Lamar's crib, the pair quickly copped the chairs and sat down. Franklin, taking yet another deep breath, explained the whole situation directly into his friend's face, who immediately expressed shock and disdain for his actions.

"Man, that's cold." Lamented Lamar sadly. "So the old dude killed the crazy motherfucker, an' then you iced the old dude, yo' mentor? That's story of your life, nigga!"

"Not really." Said Franklin, taking a huge gulp of a forty ounce. "It ain't something I wanna live with, you feel me nigga?"

"So you're tellin' me, you're gonna cap Devin Weston, AND Steve Haines?"

Franklin gave a small smirk.

"That's right, dog."

Franklin felt yet another buzz from his phone. This time, it was a message from Amanda.

" _I found about what you did to Michael, you piece of shit. I hope you burn in hell. Stay away from my family_."

Franklin was momentarily at a loss of words, ignoring what Lamar was saying at the moment.

"Hey, dog. You alright?" Asked Lamar, worried about Franklin's expression.

"Nigga, it's nothing, dog. So you were saying?"

"So where do I come in, nigga?" Said the lanky gangbanger enthusiastically. "What 'chu want me to do?"

 _Ten minutes later…_

 _12:13 a.m., Downtown Los Santos_

The car was a disheveled, generic gray tone _Vapid Stanier_ , one of the most common cars in the city of Los Santos and perhaps the state of San Andreas. Both Franklin and Lamar had just stolen it from some crackhead from around the block, and were waiting for Franklin's next move.

Franklin opened up his list of contacts, and selected the name 'Lester'.

" _Who is this? Stop calling this number!"_ The man from the other line spoke menacingly, with a hint of paranoia.

"Relax, L. It's me, Franklin."

"… _I've got nothing to say to you."_ Said Lester, audibly upset. " _You have your money from the score, don't you? Now leave me alone. I don't wanna be your next target."_

"Man, hold up!" Shouted Franklin angrily. "I wanna make it up for Michael and Trevor, I just need one last favor, dog!"

" _So now you're trying to atone, huh?_ "

"If you put it like that, yeah!" Continued Franklin. "Those two dudes might not be the best people in Los Santos, but at least they tried to help me dog! They taught me many things about life and shit, got me out of the hood, man! And the money shows!"

Lamar chuckled a bit upon hearing this statement.

"Looks like Mr. Gold Card's bragging about his high life and shit-!"

"Nigga shut up! Anyway, Lester. Just tell me where the fuck Haines and Devin are, an' I'll by on my way, I promise I won't bother your ass again!"

" _Give me a moment_."

After a brief moment of silence, the phone began to sound again.

" _Agent Steve Haines, FIB, last seen at Del Perro Pier, just finished filming an episode of 'The Underbelly Of Paradise' and is probably on his break right now. My guess is that, he's at the bar there, drinking._ "

"And what about Devin, dog?"

"… _Nothing on him yet, I'll call you back if I'm picking up anything. We have to hang up soon. And Franklin?_ "

"What?"

" _Good luck_."

Franklin hung up the call quickly, and returned the phone to his jacket, with Lamar on the wheel to Del Perro Pier.

"Nigga, Steve Haines is FIB, you know we gonna get heat on us!" Said Lamar, visibly scared.

"That's why we gotta do it discreetly, nigga!"

"Nigga, 'discreetly' is when we end up in the morgue, fool!"

"C'mon, he's the reason why T's dead, dog! Tell you what, I'll think of something when we get there, so chill dog, I got this!"

Lamar paused for a second.

"Hope you right, homie. Then maybe after that we can peek at them bitches over at the Unicorn!"

Accelerating the sedan across the now quiet streets of Los Santos, the duo make their way to Del Perro Pier.


	3. Haines: Taken Out

_12:30a.m., Out Of Towners, Del Perro Pier, Los Santos_

The long-awaited second episode of 'The Underbelly Of Paradise' has now concluded filming, and the FIB agent and his camera crew now able to enjoy fresh, ice cold bottles of _Logger_ while looking on to the fantastic skyline of nighttime Los Santos from the balcony. It was finally time to celebrate. Loud rock music was heard all around Del Perro Pier, scaring the hobos away.

"Now!" Shouted Steve Haines proudly, carrying a bottle on his right hand. "I would like to thank you all for your contributions to the long-awaited second episode of my show, wouldn't have done it without you guys! To reward you all, all the drinks are on me!"

A raucous applause was heard from the crew.

"Does this mean I get a raise, Steve?" Said a young cameraman, perched on the back seat, glass of _Pisswasser_ in one hand and raising the other.

"Why, of course not, kid!" Responded the star of the show immediately, getting a few laughs from the crowd.

"Now let's raise our drinks, to the whorish, haggard face of the future!"

Raising the bottle high, the rest of the crew followed suit, before chugging down on the liquor quickly.

Feeling the gurgles on his stomach, Steve Haines clenched his abdominals in complete agony, giving the crew a very frustrated facial expression, much to their amusement.

"Steve, you alright, dude?" One of the crew members asked with a worried look.

"Ugh… I need to drop a deuce, right now…" Responded Steve anxiously. "Could you point out where the shitter is?"

"Uhh, there's only sinks here, nearest bathroom would be at the parking lot… if that's fine with you."

" _You gotta be fucking kidding_." Steve Haines quickly left the balcony in a hurry, without telling the rest of the crew.

 _Around the same time…_

"This is where Lester said he be, keep your eyes peeled, dog." Said Franklin with a serious look on his face.

"Fuck that shit, nigga. We going in loud! We can fight them FIB fools too, anythin' is possible!"

Loading a fresh magazine into a Micro-SMG with a silencer, Lamar quickly opened the rusted door of the Stanier, only to be stopped by his homie.

"Lamar, the fuck you doing, nigga?! You trying to get both of us killed?!" Shouted Franklin angrily, pulling his homie back by the shirt.

"Nigga, I thought we were in this together!" Rebutted Lamar.

"I thought we was trying to do this shit discreetly!"

"My Apache blood says otherwise!" Laughed Lamar, bringing up the age-old joke back from the dead. "I'm gonna get my ass in there an' scalp that motherfucker Haines!"

Just before Lamar got out, Franklin could see the figure of a fit, redheaded yet smug-looking Caucasian man dressed in a purple polo and smart jeans, rushing into the bathroom hurriedly. Lamar, upon seeing thing, remained in his position.

Seeing this as an opportunity to snuff that arrogant piece of shit, the pair quickly made their way outside the bathroom, taking cover outside. _"Nine Is God"_ played loudly across the speakers, with its loud, noisy surf guitars effectively walling over the pier, making it the perfect opportunity to silence Haines.

Lamar, gripping onto the grip of the gun tightly, was extremely eager to pierce lead through the FIB agent.

"Nigga, let's just go in an' cap his ass!" Shouted Lamar over the music. "I hate his motherfuckin' show!"

"Hold it, dog! He ain't out yet!" Stopped Franklin preparing to enter the bathroom.

"Hallelujah!" Shouted the agent proudly as he exited the toilet door, before going over the the sink to wash up his face.

It was time.

The first verse of the song began playing.

Giving Lamar the signal, the pair quickly ran up to confront Haines at gunpoint.

Steve Haines, slowly looking up, looked like he was about to shit his pants, again.

"You-you… I thought you killed him!" Stammered the FIB agent.

"I did." Said Franklin, pointing the silenced pistol towards his forehead. "But you know what? If I had been a little wiser, he _WOULD_ have killed yo' ass already!"

"You're making the biggest fucking mistake of your whole, insignificant life, kid." Shouted Haines loudly over the loud music, gaining some courage in the face of two gun barrels. "I AM AN OFFICER OF THE LAW, AND I'M-"

Without letting the agent finish his sentence, both Lamar and Franklin opened fire, bullets quickly piercing through his flesh and exiting through the holes, causing his bloodied body to collapse on the ground with a thud. Agent Haines was now out of commission.

"I'll clean the blood, you drag his ass to the trunk." Said Franklin, putting on a pair of gloves and taking out some disinfectant and cloth, before doing the honors, while Lamar simply nodded his head before pulling the lifeless body by the shoulders.

"Damn! You a big dude, Agent Steve Haines!" Commented Lamar, dragging his body towards the _Stanier_.

"Ey, make sure nobody sees your crazy ass, nigga!" Reminded Franklin.

"Nigga, I'd ice 'em already! Shit, ain't nobody walking around the pier at this hour!"

Adding the disinfectant all over the now clean floors of the bathroom, Franklin gave it one last scrub before getting up and running back to Lamar.

Lamar was already halfway to the _Stanier_ , having some trouble with Steve's body.

"Gonna need some help here, dog!" Shouted Lamar. "This motherfucker been eating!"

Grabbing the body by the legs, Franklin winced, looking over at the agent's mangled face.

 _That's some nasty ass shit, dog!_ He thought to himself.

"Shiiit! His brains are comin' out! Sure looks tasty!" Laughed Lamar, much to Franklin's annoyance.

"Nigga, just hurry it up and get the trunk open."

Reaching over to the trunk, Lamar opened the trunk without breaking a sweat before dumping the body inside, closing the trunk immediately after that.

"Rest In Peace, bitch." Said Lamar darkly.

"I know a place where we can dump this nigga, let me take the wheel, dog."

Jumping into the driver's seat, the pair make their way to the cliffs of Paleto Bay.

There was one thing that was to be certain about, it was that justice had been served for Trevor, in the form of blood.


	4. Loose Ends

_12:53a.m., Downtown Los Santos, Los Santos_

Having dead bodies in trunks is a very common practice in places like Los Santos, and despite being a routine, and somewhat effective way to keep cadavers out of police sight, the drivers themselves need to practice a higher and heightened form of vigilance and alertness so as to prevent detections from the cops. That night, Franklin and Lamar learnt the concept's importance, the hard way.

All because Lamar had some loose ends to clean up.

"How long before we reach Paleto Bay, dog?" Inquired Lamar, looking down on his phone's clock. "It gone be quick, right?"

"Shit, nigga. Don't expect us to fly there! It's gonna take like, two hours or some shit!"

"Two hours?!" Shouted Lamar. "Nigga, I need to go back to Strawberry! Got some shit I need to clear up with Harold!"

Franklin was not pleased.

"Stretch?!" Franklin was at awe that the not-very-bright gangbanger was still rolling with him. "Man, he's the reason why the Ballas 'napped yo' ass! He stabbed us in the back!"

"Yeah I know, nigga! He's a motherfuckin' sni-i-itch!" Said Lamar, smiling. "S'why I got a present for him!"

"Man, that's fuckin' stupid, nigga! First of all, the Ballas gone come for your ass, and second, we got a dead body in the fuckin' trunk! Popo be swarmin' and shit!"

"Easy, nigga! I'll make sure none of those two things ever happen, well the first one at least. I got this. And nigga, remember what I told you about the concept of friendship and shit? This is one way to show that!"

Franklin gave Lamar a very annoyed look, yet he did feel a bit guilty. Lamar was actually right for once, if Franklin had actually evaluated on the value of friendship he had with Trevor and Michael deeper, they wouldn't still be lying on the asphalt right now. Taking a deep breath, Franklin finally agreed to help Lamar.

"Nigga, only because you my homie for life!"

Reluctantly, Franklin made a turn back towards Strawberry, making no eye contact with his homie.

 _1:06a.m., Stretch's house, Strawberry, Los Santos_

Harold "Stretch" Joseph was outside sitting by the front lawn, placing a blunt into his lips and slowly lighted the other end of it, inhaling the fresh, marijuana smoke before breathing it out through his nose. He began to think about the benefits he was able to reap from rolling with the Ballas, the money, the bitches, way better than the shit back in prison, and with the Families.

 _Fuck that lanky ass bitch Lamar, fuck that fat ass Franklin an' fuck the Chamberlain Gangsters Families! I made it, and ain't nothing's gonna stop me!_ Thought Stretch to himself, grinning a bit and taking another puff of the blunt. The night was calm and peaceful, in stark contrast to back in the day, where at least three drive-by shootings would occur every night. A young Harold would cower behind the sofa along with his momma, crying in fear that he might lose his life any second, as many of his friends unfortunately did over the course of his childhood.

Over the years, he came to the realization that he, of all people, was still standing, that he was still alive, breathing. It was then he didn't care anymore. He didn't care about people, the gangsters, life in the hood, only himself. This sentiment was further strengthened when he went to prison, it was when he did his time he found out that reality didn't care for anyone, and that it was either a life full of rewards if you fought resiliently for it, even if it means betraying your closest friends, or be on the ground, bleeding to death, waiting for no one to save you.

" _Life's a bitch_." Uttered the former Families member emotionlessly, casually puffing the blunt.

Suddenly, the silence of the night was interrupted by what sounded like a loud digital alarm clock ticking coming from inside the house. Stretch, thinking that he might have set the alarm clock to the wrong timing, quickly made his way back into the crib.

To his surprise, nothing sounded from the alarm clock. Pressing the alarm clock against his cheek, Stretch finally found out where the sound was coming from.

Running into the kitchen, Stretch opened up his kitchen cabinet.

Inside it was a bright-yellow set of cylinders crafted from plasticine with a single watch in the middle of the bunch and wires all over it, pasted on the wood. The sound was beginning to halt.

Stretch stood in the kitchen without moving, in complete shock and horror.

 _Just earlier…_

"He's outside, blazin'." Commented Franklin, seeing the stout figure sitting outside, lighting one up. "So what's yo' great idea this time?"

"Nigga, just shut up for a sec!" Whispered Lamar over to his homie, who was beginning to grow very uneasy with Steve's body in the trunk. "Now it's time!"

Subtly pressing a button from a remote control in his right pocket, away from Franklin's line of sight, Lamar looked back at Stretch, who began to head back to his crib.

"Yeah, that's right. Get yo' ass in there, Harold!" Laughed Lamar darkly.

In a matter of seconds, a bright orange flash shone brightly from the old house, splinters of wood and debris came flying around the perimeter, and a loud boom was heard, causing the neighbors in nearby houses to turn on the lights in their houses. Screams were heard all over the neighborhood and sirens filled the night air.

"That's what you get, you snitchy motherfucker!" Laughed Lamar maniacally. "Should never have fucked with the Families, Harold!"

"Nigga, the fuck did you…" Stuttered Franklin, appalled by Lamar's 'technique' of wiping out snitches.

"I took out a liability, nigga!"

Swerving the car to the alley on the left, the _Stanier_ began to exit the premises, zooming past a few police cruisers, flashing their signature blue and red lights and sounding the sirens, approaching the site of the explosion.

Driving across the streets, Franklin came to the conclusion that this was Lamar's craziest idea yet, exceeding even Trevor's level of crazy.

"C4 always works, nigga!" Said Lamar. "No trace and shit, the Ballas ain't never gonna find out who did it! Bet five-oh gonna call it, a gas explosion, or some shit!"

Franklin was simply speechless, keeping his eye on the road.

Steve's body was beginning to rot, and the smell was close to entering the car's interior.

Taking a gulp of air and rolling open the windows, Franklin continue to stir on as the _Stanier_ rushed through the freeway, making its way towards Paleto Bay.


	5. Flashback

_10:25p.m., Murrieta Oil Fields, Los Santos_

 _The Bodhi blew up into several parts and debris flew in all directions with just a single bullet into the pool of gasoline, igniting it and ending Trevor's misery for good. The smoke billowed violently into the sky and across Franklin and Michael, covering their eyes and faces with the darkness. Coughing madly and closing their eyes, the pair quickly scattered away from the wreckage._

" _YOU ALWAYS LIKED GASOLINE, TREVOR!" Screamed the dead man's former partner._

 _Franklin, shocked by Michael's response to Trevor's death, immediately berated him._

" _Man, he was your best fucking friend!"_

"… _Fuck you."_

 _Panting like a traumatized and mentally exhausted war veteran, the recidivated bank robber took a deep breath, pressing the sides of his head, trying to compose himself._

" _You know what tough guy? It's…it's about time you grow the fuck up." Said Michael calmly, pointing at his protégé._

" _I mean… I admit, I'm a bad piece of work. But that guy? That piece of shit?!"_

 _Michael took a few more strides forward before continuing with his tirade against Trevor._

" _No boundaries! No sense of when to back off! No nothin'! 24-7 insanity! Day in, day out! ALL THE TIME! ...Never regretted nothin', cared for nothin'! Well fuck him!"_

 _Michael took several breaths again, yet again trying to comfort himself._

" _Well… There's gotta be a limit, kid… Y'know where even to the point where assholes like us say 'Enough is E-Fuckin'-Nough'!"_

 _Michael placed his finger against Franklin's chest._

"… _Human stew. That's my limit… I know that now…"_

 _Michael stepped forward into the less industrial parts of the oil field, Franklin following along._

" _I guess that's that, then…" Said the younger man sadly._

 _Walking away from Michael, Franklin suddenly remembered something that bothered him for a while. It was what Devin told him when he came into his house._

 _Devin was a man who Franklin assumed to have many connections with the high and elite in Los Santos, which perhaps include the chief commissioner of the LSPD. With Michael still alive, the end of Devin's bargain was not met. Franklin, who had made and earned so much throughout the course of this journey, was bound to lose everything, his new house, his money and probably go back into the big house and do some hard time. And Devin, based on Franklin's experience with the car thefts, was not a man to be trusted. Franklin suspected that he might eventually turn on him again in future._

 _There was only one other way to end this bullshit._

 _Without thinking, Franklin pulled his gun back out, pointing it at his mentor, taking a step closer to him. Michael, took notice of this, quickly gave his protégé a puzzled look._

" _What's the matter, kid? You're feeling suicidal?" Said Michael, trying to bring up his poor sense of humor at a very inappropriate time. "I know I am, but now's not the time. You should go back home and wash up."_

" _I'm not. And this ain't personal, M. I'm really sorry."_

 _Pulling the hammer of his pistol back, Michael immediately knew that Franklin meant business._

" _I was going to lose everything, M. All that I made." Said Franklin, trying to fight back tears, shaking while pointing his gun at Michael. "I ain't gonna let that happen. I'm sorry."_

" _You fucking piece of shit." Said Michael, the tone of his voice clearly heartbroken and betrayed. "After all I've done for you, and you call this 'not personal'?!"_

 _Quickly removing his pistol from the holster, Michael soon realized that the magazine was empty, and only a 'clicking' noise was heard from his piece._

" _Sorry."_

 _Turning his face away from his mentor, a shot was fired in the middle of the night, landing directly into Michael's forehead, causing him to collapse instantly on the ground, fresh blood slowly rolling out of the wound._

" _Shit!" Franklin turned around, instantly regretting his decision. Two of his friends were now dead, and there was no way to bring them back up._

 _Taking a large gulp of air, Franklin began to reevaluate the entire situation carefully._

 _It was going to be a long night._


	6. Feeding The Fishes

_3:38a.m., Paleto Bay Outskirts, Blaine County_

The rusted _Stanier_ screeched as it finally came to a halt in front of the cliffs overlooking the majestic algae-turquoise Pacific Ocean in the cricket calls of the night. The smell in the back had grew so bad that Franklin and Lamar had to cover their noses out of disgust. Getting off the old sedan, the pair quickly made their way to the trunk, keeping a lookout for any bystanders who might be in the premises.

Thankfully, only a handful of cars passed through the freeway, ignoring them both completely.

"Ey, dog. Before we throw his ass into the water…" Said Lamar, placing his hands on the trunk. "I wanna take one last, good look at the motherfucker!"

"LAMAR! Don't-!"

With enthusiastic arms, Lamar propped open the trunk, showing the body of Agent Steve Haines in all of his glory. His skin was beginning to darken from decomposition, and he looked like he had been injected by a tire pumper. His signature purple polo shirt was now discolored by the blood, turning it into a sickening, maroon-brown mixture. Flies and maggots were swarming all over the orifices of the murdered corpse, a smell reminiscent of a horrifying mixture of rotten eggs and candy canes escaped from it, making the two friends gag uncontrollably.

"DAMN, NIGGA! THAT FUCKIN' STANK!" Shouted Lamar loudly. " _I think I'm gonna hurl_ …"

"What was you expecting, dog?" Retorted Franklin angrily at the lanky gangbanger's stupidity. "It's a _dead motherfuckin' body_! Close that shit and let's just throw the car into the ocean!"

Swiftly, Lamar slammed the trunk with both hands loudly, throwing up a bit on the ground. Together with Franklin, the pair placed both hands against the rear end of the _Stanier_ , before manually pushing it forward, reaching over the edge of the cliff. Like a large boulder rolling off Mount Chilliad, the car tumbled downhill, flipping over a few times before entering the water, submerging completely.

"Man… That's over and done with…" Panted Franklin, trying to shake the visions of the body off his head. "Let's find a ride and head back to my pad."

"Fo' sure, homie." Said Lamar, looking quite unhappy.

Walking across the barren, dusty roads of the freeway, the two gangsters looked around. There weren't any cars driving at all during this hour, it seemed like the only way back to the city was to walk all the way back, which would probably take about four hours or so, provided if Lamar didn't randomly shoot anyone on the way.

After much wandering around, Franklin and Lamar finally found their ticket out of Blaine County. The car was a light blue _Dundreary Regina_ , which sat outside a roadside pit stop, its engine surprisingly still running.

"Driver must be takin' a shit. Let's jack that whip, dog." Commented Franklin, as the pair walked towards the station wagon.

The doors were unlocked, and the keys to the car were still stuck in the ignition. The pair quickly got in, and were pleasantly surprised by this fact.

"Easiest carjacking ever." Laughed Lamar. "Dumb ass motherfucker thought his ride was safe in the middle of nowhere! He wouldn't stand a chance against Simeon!"

"Don't remind me, dog." Said Franklin, remembering the bad memories with the repo gig.

Revving the engine again, the Regina departed from its initial position and accelerated off to the freeway back to LS. The radio was tuned to an old school soul radio hosted by actress Pam Grier, the haunting brass sounds of ' _Smiling Faces Sometimes_ ' started playing from the radio. Lamar looked quite happy when the song began to play.

"Haha! This is my grand momma's jam!" Laughed Lamar, much to Franklin's surprise. Lamar, since his high school days, had always been listening to hardcore gangsta rap and openly embraced its message about gang culture, while listening to nothing else. He never thought that he, of all people, would actually enjoy listening to this form of intelligent, spoken word music.

" _Smiling faces sometimes~… Pretend to be your friend~…_ C'mon nigga, sing it with me!" Ushered Lamar happily as he nudged his homie, who expressed annoyance.

"I'm driving, dog! Sing it by yo' self!" Replied Franklin, steering the car at the appropriate moments, narrowly avoiding a tanker.

"Ey, quit being such a bitch, nigga!" Said Lamar endearingly. "This is one of them 'homie-for-life bonding time' moments, you feel me?"

"Man that sound gay as hell!" Said Franklin. "And we just dumped a dead body into the fuckin' waters. It ain't never a good time to sing!"

"C'mon homie, you always tense. S'why Tanisha broke up with yo' straight an' narrow ass! You never know how to sit back and chill!"

Sighing a bit, Franklin finally agreed to sing along, forming a rather effective duet with Lamar in the car as it cruised over the freeway. The sun was slowly beginning to rise over the horizon, brightening up the navy blues of the night sky with its warm orange hues.

" _Smiling faces… Smiling faces, sometimes~… Hey, they don't tell the truth~!_

 _Smiling faces… Smiling faces, sometimes! And I've got proof~!_ "

The female vocals came in following the chorus, and Lamar altered his voice so as to match the vocal range, failing terribly and causing him to sound completely off-tune, making Franklin laugh heavily.

"Man, you should definitely sign up for _Fame Or Shame_!" Replied Franklin, laughing while driving. "Love to see those judges and shit pull you apart, one by one!"

"Nigga, I got the golden voice!" Said Lamar, trying to put up a serious look. "Those bitches over there would love me!"

"Yeah, they'll love you so much that they'll call in security an' throw yo' lanky ass out into the street!"

 _6:01a.m., 3671 Whispymound Drive, Vinewood Hills, Los Santos_

The drive, as anticipated, took way longer than expected. The _Regina_ was a very slow and unreliable car, with a weak engine that couldn't even climb up hills. By the time the pair had reached town, it was already early morning, and public buses and transport began to operate. Unsurprisingly, no phone call was heard from Lester… Yet.

"This crib is fly, dog!" Shouted Lamar excitedly, stepping into the cozy high-end house overlooking Vinewood and the surrounding green hills. "I should cut back on the liquor store holdups and start robbing banks and shit!"

"With your personality?" Said Franklin sarcastically, raising an eyebrow. "Nigga, you better off working at _Cluckin' Bell_ for the minimum wage!"

"Minimum wage my ass!" Laughed Lamar, slumping back on the couch and turning on the wide-screen television. "You got any drank?"

Taking out a nice, intricately-patterned bottle of bourbon that he enjoyed with Lester after the Merryweather boat heist, Franklin took out two glasses and filled them up with the clear, golden colored beverage, sliding one glass over to his homie. Lamar, seeing Franklin actually living the life, looked envious.

"Man, this is some high-end shit!" Commented Lamar, taking a swig of the drink. "So that's what you get for workin' with the old dude, huh?"

"Nigga, it's nothing." Said Franklin, taking a sip. "We gotta wait for that Lester dude to call back."

"Why do I get the feeling that he ain't gonna call in a while?" Inquired Lamar.

Ignoring his question, Franklin went outside to check on Chop, while Lamar continued to mindlessly flick through the channels on the TV.


	7. Always Homies For Life

_3:06p.m., 3671 Whispymound Drive, Vinewood Hills, Los Santos_

Nearly ten hours had passed by since Lamar and Franklin came back to the crib, and nearly twelve hours after the messy disposal of Agent Steve Haine's body. News reports and gossip columns filled the local radio, frantically detailing the agent's sudden disappearance after the filming of ' _The Underbelly Of Paradise'_. Memorials and quick biographies filled the television screens across Los Santos, lamenting the just-around-stardom FIB agent's disappearance. Lamar and Franklin just went to a pizza kitchen around the corner from lunch just two hours earlier, and the long-awaited phone call from Lester has yet to be received. They had nothing to do at Franklin's crib, other than watching TV, drinking and smoking, talking about old times and stockpiling their weapons.

They were preparing for the last stand against Devin Weston.

Taking a swig of red wine on the table, Lamar threw over a submachine gun in Franklin's direction, causing it to nearly fire a blank shot.

"Fuck, nigga!" Shouted Franklin, pissed with Lamar's carelessness. "I ain't gonna get killed before getting to Devin!"

"Chill, dog! It's just a gat!" Replied Lamar, still smiling.

Suddenly, the phone on the table began to vibrate loudly, the words 'Lester' appearing on the front screen.

It was about time.

"Yo, it's Franklin." The man immediately picked it up. "Where's Devin?"

" _Devin Weston, wealthy billionaire and playboy, he's over at the recently-opened Mr. Fuk's Rice Box, which he personally financed, over at Chumash. He's hosting some sort of soiree party there for Los Santo's wealthy and miserable. Expect a lot of boring and coked-up socialites and businessmen there_."

"Got it, dog."

" _Wait, there's something really important that I have to tell you!_ "

Franklin paused to let the man over the phone talk.

" _My source detects that there's going to be a lot of Merryweather bodyguards around the premises. When I say a lot, I mean-_ "

"Yeah, dog. I got it."

Lester took a deep breath over the phone.

"… _You don't want to do this, Franklin. Trust me, it's suicide for you and your friend."_

Franklin stopped. Lester was perfectly right. This was going to be one of the riskiest things that he would ever do in his whole criminal career, and it would most likely cost him his life, if not prison time.

Then he remembered something very important.

He remembered all the times he had working with Michael and Trevor, going around on exciting heists, playing a part in different roles, all aiming towards a common goal. All of them faced through the bad times, as well as the good, showing him that even with their differences, they could still make it big, not to mention vivid memories of the Big Score, which was easily one of the most exciting moments in Franklin's life, even for him. He realized that this was the only way that he could redeem himself for both of those men, to make up for their loss of friendship during the night at the oil fields. Franklin paused, before opening his mouth to speak.

"…I'm doing it, for Michael and Trev."

"… _I guess that's that, then…_ " Replied Lester solemnly, sadness reaching over to the other line. " _See you around in the next life, Franklin_."

"…Yeah, it is. See you, Lester."

Hanging up the phone, Franklin slowly turned over to Lamar, who was half asleep.

"Yo, Lamar. Let's go." Said Franklin, bringing the SMG and holstering his combat pistol. "We going to Chumash."

Lamar opened his eyes, looking very sleepy.

"…We goin' already?" Yawned Lamar, picking up a shotgun. "Nigga, it's about time!"

Taking all his keys with him, Franklin started up the _Buffalo S_ , causing its V8 engine to roar ferociously, before leaving with Lamar through the hills, and speeding off to Chumash.

 _4:25p.m., Outside Mr Fuk's Rice Box, Chumash, Los Santos County_

Traffic in Los Santos was very merciless, as always, with the pair constantly taking the fast lane across the freeway to save time, only to be caught up with another snake of cars. Franklin was constantly checking on his watch, afraid that the soiree party might have ended early, and that Devin might already be on his way back to his lair in wherever it was, with that smug look on his face. Lamar was asleep, his snoring quickly becoming a hindrance to Franklin, who had all of his mind on the job.

He simply couldn't fuck this up.

Franklin started to think about Lamar. He didn't like the fact that a silly gangbanger from Strawberry like him should even be caught up with all this mess, a mess that Franklin created for himself. He didn't like the fact that he was constantly tagging along with him to what clearly appeared to be a suicide mission, just because he was a homie for life.

Franklin finally made up his mind.

After about an hour's worth of traffic jams, the _Buffalo S_ screeched to a halt in front of the seaside town filled with rich people and college students on their break. The restaurant, adjourned with all kinds of Asian decorations and cues with a minimalist, West Coast touch, had all kinds of fancy fast cars parked outside it, with large congregations of people gathering outside it.

' _1759(Outro)_ ' by _Richard Spaven_ was playing softly from the car's speakers, it was a hauntingly appropriate yet beautiful song that matched the mood of the two gangsters, who they knew that they weren't going to survive in there after killing Devin.

 _Great._ Franklin thought. _Thought I was gonna be late for the party._

Lamar, who felt the car stop for a while, blinked a few times before regaining consciousness, smiling at his best friend, bringing up the shotgun.

"That fool Devin's inside that bitch, let's go in an' cap that motherfucker!"

Just before exiting the vehicle, Lamar felt a pull on his T-shirt. Franklin quickly took out several keys from his pocket and placed it on his left palm, and gave him his iFruit phone.

"That one's the keys to my crib, an' that one's the keys to the Mexican's bike." Said Franklin without emotion. "Call Lester for the cash from the score, an' you can keep my ride."

Lamar was at extreme disbelief, he simply couldn't break down what Franklin, his only best friend since diapers, just said to him. He began to laugh nervously.

"Haha… I thought we was homies for life?" Said Lamar, his cheerful demeanor slowly going on the brink of sadness and worry. "We gonna go in together and end that fool?"

"We _are_ homies for life, nigga." Said Franklin firmly, clenching his fist. "Always are, always will be. But this job is important to me, Lamar. I mean, all the shit that happened to us both, it was because of me! I mean… I let two of my homies die cause of him-!"

"Bullshit, homie!" Shouted Lamar uncharacteristically, clearly very upset and worried for his best friend. "If you gonna die today, best we die together!"

"…We could, Lamar. We could." Comforted Franklin, looking down. "But this is personal. I wanna prove my loyalty to my homies, you feel me? And I don't want to let you get killed over this."

Turning his body to the left, Franklin had a few things to say to Lamar before departing, permanently.

"…Look out for Tonya, Tanisha, Tavell if he ever comes back. Hell, even look out for my aunty! That's gone be my last request."

Lamar was still trying his best to smile, and yet, he found the thought of his best friend dying and never returning to be quite overwhelming.

" _...C'mon, nigga... Don't go alone..._ "

Lamar placed his palm over his mouth, sniffing a little. Coming to terms with the fact that he would never see his friend again, Lamar headed over to the other side of the car.

"…Sure, dog." Said the tall gangbanger before moving over to the driver's seat of the _Buffalo S_.

"Good luck, Franklin. We always homies for life."

The two gangsters gave each other one last dap followed by a pat in the back.

Before moving to the restaurant, Franklin had one last thing to tell Lamar. He turned around and spoke through the car door.

"You know, when you told me about the concept of friendship an' all? You were right, homie."

Hearing this, Lamar gave a silent nod, before rolling up the windows, revving up the engine and driving on the freeway. In seconds, the _Buffalo S_ was nothing more than a white dot on the road, slowly disappearing into the horizon.

Holstering his SMG, Franklin calmly walked towards the restaurant, keeping his focus on Devin Weston.


	8. Finale: The Sun Descends

_4:28p.m., Mr. Fuk's Rice Box, Chumash, Los Santos County_

The restaurant reeked of fresh wood and Korean barbeque, and large congregations of smartly-dressed people were standing in circles, conversing about business or about the last time they snorted coke off a bathroom sink at the _Bahama Mamas_. Franklin, who did not like being associated with such people, instinctively walked away, pushing and shoving his way towards the entrance, guarded by two Merryweather operatives.

Along the way, Franklin observed a very vintage oddity in the row of parked cars. It was a classic repainted yellow-gold _Truffade_ sports coupe with Art Deco style trims and lights, and stood out majestically from all the other generic sports cars. It was the same car that Franklin had stolen from Chad Mulligan a few months ago, and was now under Weston's ownership.

 _Shouldn't have brought this whip along, Devin._ Smiled Franklin secretly. _You just making it harder for yourself._

Inside, Franklin looked around the restaurant carefully, ignoring the other patrons and the catering crew who were delivering freshly barbecued _Bulgogi_ to the banquet tables. The restaurant itself was quite dimly-lit, and there were altogether two floors, the upper one having a balcony with three Merryweather guards standing still at each corner with guns, observing the ground floor.

 _Gotta remember about those dudes._ Thought Franklin, eyeing up at the guards.

After much navigating, Franklin finally got to Devin, guarded by two of his bodyguards, who was standing and talking to three other men in suits. Checking his pockets to make sure that his guns were still functional, Franklin calmly made his way towards his target.

"…And that's my story on how I fucked my first secretary!" Shouted Devin, laughing away with the other men.

"Jesus, Devin. You should be a comedian!" A businessman said. "Ain't laughed that hard since last week at the _Split Sides_!"

"Glad you enjoyed it, kid!" Replied the mogul with a smile, sipping a glass of wine.

Taking notice of one of the only few African Americans in the restaurant and recognizing him immediately, Devin greeted his former worker with open arms.

"Ahh, slick! It's good to see you again!" Smiled Devin. "So, how are things catching up, huh? Killing any more people?"

"I killed Michael, ain't nothin' else I'm going to say." Replied Franklin with a hint of anger, getting nervous looks from the businessmen.

"Wait, wait, wait! I know what you're thinking, you still want _yo' paper_ for all those cars, right, _homie_?" Guessed Devin, trying to imitate Franklin's speech.

Franklin simply gave him an annoyed look.

"Heh, relax slick! Follow me, it's in my personal VIP room!" Beckoned Devin, Franklin slowly following him from behind.

While walking, Devin turned back to the businessmen and apologized.

"Sorry about that, folks! I've got some business to handle."

The businessman simply waved at him, while Devin's bodyguards tagged along.

The room was relatively large, and came with a wide-screen television and karaoke set, with large Chinese style paintings placed strategically around the walls, looking a lot like the setting to an Asian action kung fu movie. Placing a large briefcase on the table, Devin shifted it over to Franklin, who was sitting right in front of him, while the Merryweather guards stared at him vigilantly, not wanting him to pull off anything to hurt their client.

"Open it!" Said the billionaire joyfully.

Pressing the clips on the side of the briefcase, the inside of the briefcase was nothing but a large pile of green, stacks of unmarked bills lay on top of one another and next to each other, forming a large cash forest.

"Molly, God rest her soul, did tell you that I was going to invest it." Continued Devin. "You can thank me later, slick."

The money was huge, even for Franklin. Hell, it was probably worth more than his take of the Big Score. His mind was telling him that he didn't have to kill Devin, take the briefcase and go back home and break the news to Lamar and Lester. It all seemed so tempting.

And then the thought slapped him right back in the face.

 _No, I ain't gonna take this green. I'm still doin' it for M and T._

Suddenly, Franklin stood up, pointing his submachine gun directly at Devin, the cold barrel of the gun pressing against his right temple. The Merryweather guards, seeing this, likewise pointed their guns at Franklin, demanding that he drop the piece immediately.

Devin was unfazed.

"What's the matter slick?" Said Devin calmly. "Money not good enough for you?"

"It ain't about the money, asshole." Replied Franklin. "You fuckin' used me, Michael and Lamar and you had the old dude killed! And not only that, you paid these motherfuckers to do your dirty work for you, you spineless ass bitch!"

"Hey, I wasn't the one, who _PULLED THE FUCKING TRIGGER ON MICHAEL_!" Snapped Devin. "His blood is on your hands, slick. _You're_ the one who made the decision! You _CHOSE_ to follow the option that I suggested, so don't come running back to threaten me when it was entirely **your fault**!"

Pulling the hammer back, Franklin had only a few words for Devin.

"This time, _your_ blood's gone be on my hands!"

"Big mistake, slick!" Said Devin, walking away from the room, looking at both of his guards, pointing at Franklin. "Guards? Put him to sleep."

The guards began to fire at Franklin, missing him and instead shooting at the briefcase, causing wads of green paper to float in the air.

Franklin immediately ducked over behind a nearby table, firing his SMG at both of the guards, causing them to fall on top of each other.

Hearing the gunshots coming from inside the VIP room, the people inside the restaurant instantly panicked, running for the front door quickly, pushing and shoving their way out. Chaos ensued inside the restaurant as platters of barbequed meat and drinks spilled on the floor, staining the carpets.

Bullets were sprayed all over the ground floor by the guards upstairs, injuring a few patrons and barely grazing Franklin, who immediately took cover.

Aiming for the balcony, Franklin fired several shots at the Merryweather guards upstairs, causing two of them to slump and fall over the balcony, landing with a sickening thud. Taking cover behind a pillar, Franklin peeked out to open fire at the last guard upstairs, bullet entering directly into his skull, creating a red-pink mist from the point of entry.

Running outside, Franklin gunned down a couple more Merryweather before dashing towards the parking lot. The _Z-Type_ was gone, having just left for the freeway, tire tracks and fumes spread across the asphalt.

 _Shit_. Thought Franklin. _Need to find a fast car_.

His wishes were finally granted when came across a dynamically superior and visibly attractive car parked outside the restaurant, along the freeway. It was a carbon black _Grotti Carbonizzare_ with a hardtop, a hidden gem in the city, with it's engine still running.

Getting in, Franklin speeded onto the freeway, chasing the golden _Z-Type_ , narrowly avoiding a Merryweather roadblock. Soon enough, Franklin heard gunfire coming from behind, progressively getting louder each time.

Two Merryweather _Mesas_ were tailing him from behind, firing their rifles at the sports car.

Turning behind, Franklin rested his SMG on the seat and performed a drive-by shooting at the driver of the first _Mesa_ , landing directly between the eyes, causing the jeep to overturn and roll off the cliff.

The next _Mesa_ , however wasn't so easy. Quickly picking up speed with the _Carbonizzare_ , the guard poking through the sunroof began firing at the car's interior. Instinctively, Franklin fired his SMG at the guard, causing his body to fly backwards, landing violently across the asphalt of the freeway.

The gun was now completely out of ammo, and quickly Franklin threw it out of the window. Making a sharp turn leftwards, the sports car rammed against the side of the jeep with immense force, causing it to swerve onto the oncoming lane, colliding into a large truck.

Franklin quickly peered behind, relieved that there was no more Merryweather coming after him.

Turning back to chase the yellow piece of shit on the road, Franklin felt an excruciating, sharp pain coming from around his abdominal region. Exerting pressure and removing his right palm, Franklin soon realized that it was colored a deep shade of red.

It didn't look good for him, at all.

Franklin was rapidly shifting in and out of consciousness, his vision of the freeway getting increasingly blurred from the loss of blood. The Z-Type was slowly stretching away from his line of sight. It just seemed like Devin could easily escape by now. Pessimistic thoughts filled Franklin's mind.

 _Man, I can't die just yet!_

A sudden surge of motivation and adrenaline filled Franklin, desperately giving the energy to exert his force on the pedals, springing the _Carbonizzare_ forward. The _Z-Type_ was getting closer with each hard step.

After much driving around , the _Carbonizzare_ soon came right behind the _Z-Type_ , fishtailing the vintage vehicle. Over the windows Franklin could clearly see the face of Devin Weston, who was panicked and afraid for his life. Turning his head over to face Franklin, Devin's jaw was agape, and his eyes grew large, out of shock and disbelief.

"Goodbye, Devin!" Shouted Franklin, turning his sports car towards the left, performing a PIT maneuver against the _Z-Type_ , causing it to spin out madly, making full frontal collision with a pile of rocks, effectively stopping the car for good.

 _5:15p.m., Chiliad Mountain State Wilderness, Blaine County_

Franklin stopped right in front of the site of the car crash, and realized that the driver's door was open, a trail of blood followed to the left side of the area overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Sunset was about to approach Los Santos, the sky painted with a stunning palette of main and complimentary colors, creating a vivid, unforgettable scenery, as seagull cries resonated softly around the cliffs, the sound of seawater splashing against the white sands.

Opening the car doors, Franklin found himself slumping forward onto the dusty grounds below, clutching painfully onto the bullet wound below his chest. Mustering whatever strength he had left, Franklin slowly stood up on his knees, pulling out his combat pistol.

Slipping slowly towards the edge of the cliff, Franklin finally saw Devin, standing by the edge covered in blood, blabbering tearfully, begging for his life to be spared.

"Ain't so tough now without security, huh Devin?" Shouted Franklin angrily, coughing up a bit.

"P-please, slick!" Begged Devin, palms clasped together. "I-I run this fucking town, if you want anything, you'll get it! Just name it!"

Raising his gun at the billionaire's head, Devin attempted one last bargain with the gunman.

"Hey, how about this, huh?!" Continued Devin anxiously. "I'll give you _half_ of my stock portfolio, a _rare_ collection of cars from the 60s… YES! The 60s! And I'll let you own some of the _finest_ establishments in LS! You're gonna be a _big fucking billionaire_ , just like me! I'll do that, and c-could we call it even?!"

Franklin, placing both hands on the pistol's grip, pulled the trigger, a bullet landing directly into the mogul's heart, causing him to spew a bit of blood from his mouth as he clutched the wound tightly, making him stumble backwards.

The gulls perched by the rocks, startled by the gunshot, began to take off over the waters.

"Now we even." Said the shooter immediately, smoke rising from the muzzle of his pistol.

With a shocked expression on his face, Devin leaned over backwards, falling over the cliff before rolling against a few rocks, making a perfect landing into the turquoise waters. He was now history.

Looking over to the waters, Franklin saw Devin's limp body floating helplessly on the surface, tuxedo painted completely red and a maroon dye gathered around him in the water. For the first time ever, Franklin felt a sense of relief that he had never felt before, relieved that the entire clusterfuck of a situation was finally resolved. A sense of immense satisfaction overwhelmed him, making him smile. At least it was all over now.

"… _Just like what Michael and Trevor would have done."_ Said Franklin with a faint smile, who was half bleeding to death, looking down at Devin's floating corpse below.

 _ **Ending Song: Living Days-Little White Lie**_

"… _Take this from me~….,_

… _My hands are clean~…"_

Franklin slowly looked over to the ocean, right palm slowly shifting away from the wound. He inspected his murder weapon for one last time, before throwing it over the cliff, landing in the water with a small splash.

Finding a suitable spot to spend his last moments, Franklin gently sat down, his back resting against a large boulder, taking one last, good look at the breathtaking Los Santos Sunset over the horizon. Shifting his gaze towards the sun and placing his right palm on the bullet wound, the criminal took his ultimate and final breath.

His conscious was finally clear.


	9. Epilogue: A New Life

"… _Thinking of going out for some Korean barbecue? You might want to stay at home. At about late afternoon yesterday, gunfire erupted at the newly-opened Mr. Fuk's Rice Box at Chumash yesterday, turning several patrons vegan and injuring many more. Police say Merryweather Security was present during the events of the shooting, protecting well-known business mogul, Devin Weston. The supposed perpetrator, a lone gunman of possible African-American descent, was seen shooting through the bodyguards and last seen driving a sports car away on the freeway in the ensuing violence. All security personnel at the restaurant is believed to have been killed by gunfire. Minutes later, the body of Franklin Clinton, a Los Santos native, was found dead and completely unarmed along a cliff at the edge of Chiliad Mountain State Wilderness, and a Truffade Z-Type belonging to the late record producer Chad Mulligan was found heavily damaged along an escarpment near the site along with another abandoned sports car. The whereabouts of Devin Weston are as of yet unknown. The LSPD have yet to make a connection between the two events._

 _In other news, locals of the Strawberry area in South Central Los Santos were violently awakened in the middle of the night by the sound of a home explosion. The owner of the house, Harold Joseph, informally referred to as 'Stretch' by his friends, was inside when the explosion occurred, and is presumed to be dead. The LSPD has officially ruled out the cause of the explosion to be that of a faulty gas pipe leakage. A RON spokesperson has issued an official statement, declaring themselves to be void of any fault on their part and that the explosion was 'perhaps caused by getting high on bath salts and microwaving a plastic sex doll'._

 _In gossip news, a new monument for the recently missing FIB agent Steve Haines, who has achieved stardom from his reality crime TV show 'The Underbelly Of Paradise', is being considered by the mayor of Los Santos. Myths have arised from his sudden disappearance, ranging from abduction by aliens to the theory that he might have defected for Cuba. The FIB has issued a simple statement about his disappearance, stating that 'they'll look into it, I guess'._

 _This is Jill Tasker, reporting live for Weasel News. Have an excellent day ahead, America."_

 _1:06p.m., 3671 Whispymound Drive, Vinewood Hills, Los Santos_

The _Speedo_ gently rolled up the hills in the lazy afternoon, stopping right in front of Franklin's home. Stepping out of the van, Lamar walked over to the back and opened the doors, taking out a box of clothes before casually making his way into the house. It had been two days since he heard the heartbreaking news that Franklin had bitten the dust, and Lamar was still trying to come to terms with his best friend's death.

Placing the box on the table, Lamar was immediately met with the sight of Chop, who barked jubilantly and ran up to his original owner. Kneeling down, he quickly petted the dog endearingly, giving him a bit of joy.

"Hey there, lil' nigga!" Said Lamar, feeding him a nearby dog treat by the table. "How you doin'?"

The dog quickly gave Lamar a sad look.

"Franklin ain't comin' back, dog." Said Lamar disappointingly. "It's sad shit that I don't wanna talk about right now."

Looking around the house with a new sense of wonder, Lamar stood back up and carefully inspected his surroundings, saying just one sentence to the Rottweiler.

 _"Chop? Time for the beginning of our new lives, homie."_


End file.
